French King, the Duke, and their
trains went to Paris. Then came Guy of Lusignan, King (and no king) of
Jerusalem, for help. Richard promised him his, not because he liked him
any better than the Marquess (who kept him out), but because Guy's title
seemed to him a good one. At bottom Richard was as deliberate as a pair
of scales; and just now was acting the perfect king, the very
touchstone of justice. Through all this time of great doings Jehane
stayed quaking at home, sitting strangely among her women--a countess
who knew she was none, a queen by nature who dreaded to be queen by law.
Yet one thing she dreaded more. She was in a horrible pass. Wife of a
dead man and his killer! Why, what should she do? She dared not go on
playing wife to the champion of heaven, and yet she dared not leave him
lest she should be snatched into the arms of his assassin. On which horn
should she impale her poor heart? She tried to wring prayers out of it,
she tried to moisten her aching eyes with the dew of tears. Slowly, by
agony of effort, she approached her bosom to the steel. One night
Richard came to her, and she drove herself to speak. He came, and she
fenced him off.

'Richard, O Richard, touch me not!'

'God on the Cross, what is this?'

'Touch me not, touch me never; but never leave me!'

'O my pale rose! O fair-girdled!' She stood up, white as her gown,
transfigured, very serious.

'I am not thy wife, Richard; I am no man's wife. No, but I am thy slave,
bound to thee by a curse, held from thee by thy high calling. I dare not
leave thee, my Richard, nor dare stay by thee so close, lest ruin come
of it.'

Richard watched her, frowning. He was much moved, but thought of what
she said.

'Ruin, Jehane, ruin?'

'Ruin of thy venture, my knight of God! Ah, chosen, elect, comrade of
the Rood, gossip of Jesus Christ, duke dedicate!' She was hued like
flame as the great thoughts leaped in her. 'Ah, my Christian King, it is
so little a thing I ask of thee, to set me apart! What am I to thee,
whose bride is the virgin city, the holy place? What is Jehane, a poor
thing handed about, to vex heaven, or be a stumbling-block in the way of
the Cross? Put me away, Richard, let me go; have done with me, sweet
lord.' And then swiftly she ran and clasped his knees: 'But ask me not
to leave thee--no, but I dare not indeed!' Her tears streamed freely
now. When Richard with a cry snatched her up, she lay weeping like a
lost child in his arms.